


Ash

by GeekeryisAfoot



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (as of episode 158 but not as of episode 160), Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, because purging yourself of the eldritch fear god controlling your life hurts, but friends make it easier, hand holding, hard earned happy ending, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22403035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekeryisAfoot/pseuds/GeekeryisAfoot
Summary: Jon, Martin, and Basira watch the Institute burn.A best case imaginable ending while still being canon compliant. Written after episode 158 and before 160
Relationships: Jonathan Sims & Martin Blackwood & Basira Hussain, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Ash

**Author's Note:**

> The entire point of this was to explore possible happy endings that might actually be feasible within canon (and also hand holding), but then 160 made it totally not canon compliant anymore, whoops. Publish your fics faster than me, kids

Ash drifted up and mixed with the falling snow, creating wet, cold gray lumps that melted as they landed and left a layer of cold, dirty water covering the street. The puddles reflected and distorted the burning building before them, turning the flames into writhing smears of orange splayed against the starless night sky. 

Jon didn't breath as they stood across the street and watched the fire do its work. He couldn't breath. He couldn't move. He couldn't blink or look away or run or hide. He tried to move over and over again, but the signals from his brain were intercepted and snuffed out before they could arrive. He, Martin, and Basira had started the fire, and in exchange for his treason the Eye demanded that he Watch it, _Experience_ it, through to the end. 

He felt the destruction of the Institute mirror inside himself, searing through every vein and muscle, scraping and carving and burning away every trace of his patron until he felt hollow. He wanted to react to the pain. He wanted to scream and claw at his skin, but he could only silently watch the flames do their job and feel the fire tear across the Archive as it consumed each and every statement.

He knew this wasn't the end. He knew that, in a cosmic sense, there would never truly be an end. Creatures would always fear, and something would always manifest to prey on those fears. But they were destroying a vast quantity of terrible things, and he clung to the hope that maybe that would be enough to spare some people from becoming victims to the same horrors. Maybe it would be enough for some victims ( _his_ victims) to find peace. Maybe it would even be enough for them to find some peace for themselves. For a time, at least.

But first he had to watch, and so he did. He watched firefighters arrive and ensure there was no one left in the building. He watched fire stream from every window. He watched the firefighters stand to the side and let it. He watched the flames claw at the night sky and the snow dusted buildings next to the Institute. He watched Martin, shivering, slowly take his hand and squeeze. He watched the roof collapse and take most of the walls with it. He watched shapes and faces and symbols appear in the cloud of dust and ash that the collapse had caused and dissipate a heartbeat later. He watched Basira go to the edge of a nearby alleyway to take a moment of privacy to cry and clutch her head in pain. He watched the flames gradually weaken, running out of fuel. He watched tears stream down Martin’s face. He watched embers struggle for life, searching for anything left to consume. 

Gray snow suffocated the last ember, and Jon took a gasping breath. He clutched Martin's hand and squeezed his eyes closed as tremors overtook his body and he curled in on himself, struggling not to double over. 

Martin took a single steadying breath. "Is it done?" he asked, his voice a forced neutral.

Jon nodded as he struggled to return air to his screaming lungs. He felt empty and hollow, like the fire had burned all the organs from his chest and left only a chasm in its wake. Every nerve felt scraped raw. He was alone in his body for the first time in years. It was strange and vulnerable and terrifying and exactly what he’d hoped for.

Without removing his hand from Jon's, Martin moved to stand in front of him and placed a bracing hand on his shoulder, like he’d be ready to catch him if he collapsed. Jon gratefully leaned into the support.

"Are you okay?" he asked gently, and the concern and care in his voice made Jon want to cry. He tried to focus on that instead of the pain.

Jon nodded again. "I thi- I- I will be,” he managed between gasps, “I think." He didn't know if that was true. Maybe without something else holding him together, his body would collapse in on itself like the Institute had. But he hoped. He desperately hoped.

He forced his eyes open and tried to squeeze the hand that wasn’t holding Martin’s into a fist. His hand didn’t immediately obey. Controlling his own body again felt unfamiliar and different in ways he didn't understand. It felt almost as if someone had remapped which keys produced which letters on a keyboard and all he could produce was unintended gibberish. He didn’t know if this was due to the shaking, the unnatural pain scarred into his nerves, something incomprehensible stealing control of his body, or some combination of all of them. He didn’t know if he wanted the answer.

When he finally managed to make a fist after too many attempts, he began scratching his nails against his palm, back and forth over and over, trying to distract from the memory of the pain by supplanting it with any other sensation. 

"Did- did you feel anything?” he asked Martin, “From the- from it?"

There were tearstains on Martin's face and he was shivering in the snow, but his voice was steady. "Something, maybe? Obviously nothing as extreme as you. I think the Lonely insulated me from the worst of it. Which is it’s own thing I- we’ll have to deal with. But mostly it was just emotions. Honestly it was hard to tell what was mine and what wasn't." He paused and searched Jon’s face, openly studying every detail of his expression. He opened his mouth to say something, closed it, then opened it again, but still didn't say anything. Jon focused on his own breathing and trying to find a normal rhythm again as he waited for Martin to decide whether to say it. He almost didn’t hear when Martin finally whispered, “Your eyes were glowing.”

Jon wasn’t particularly surprised. “What- What are they doing now?”

“They’re… greener than they were before, but mostly right now they just look like you’re trying not to cry.”

Jon laughed once harshly. “Well, tha-” He stopped to cough. The laugh had disrupted what rhythm of breathing he’d been able to find. “That’s not inaccurate.” His palm was becoming sore from his own nails, so he wrapped his arm around himself to do the same thing on his side-- scratching, rubbing, pressing, any sensation to overlay and distract from the ones scorched into every nerve.

Without stepping away from Martin, he looked towards Basira at the mouth of the alleyway. "Basira? How about- did you? Feel anything?"

She wiped the back of her hand across her face to scrub the tears away. "Yeah. Yeah I felt it." She took a shaky breath, then a steadier one, and Jon could practically see her sliding a stoic mask on again. When she walked back to where she'd stood beside them before, Jon could almost imagine she looked the same as when he’d first met her. "But we can talk about details later. We should go, before- I don't know, before _something_ finds us here." Jon tried not to think about all the different things "something" could entail, but the images came to mind anyway. He shook his head to dismiss them. Basira took another long measured breath before admitting in a quiet voice, "Besides, I don't want to be here anymore," and Jon could see the cracks in her mask.

"Me neither," he agreed. He exhaled and stood up straighter, leaning away from the bracing hand Martin still had on his shoulder. Martin let his hand fall to his side but still held Jon’s hand with the other. Jon dropped the arm that he’d been holding himself with to scratch, tap, fidget against his thigh. He glanced at the pile of rubble and everything it had once been, everything it stood for, everything it had taken from so many, and promised himself he would never look at it again. He turned back to Martin and Basira. "But I don't… I don't want to be alone either. At least for right now." 

Martin squeezed his hand. A flicker of relief flashed on Basira's face. "You're both welcome to spend the night at my place. It's not big, but I at least have a couch and extra blankets you can use." 

They both agreed. “Are you okay to walk?” Martin asked Jon. 

Jon thought about it. He tried to shift his weight from one leg to the other then back. Moving still felt odd, like the signals from his brain had to forge new paths because the old ones had burned away, but they did eventually arrive where they were meant to. “I’ll be slow,” he answered, “but I think I should be able to.”

He was right. The walk to the station was slow, but doable. After a few minutes of worriedly watching him clumsily move, Martin put Jon’s arm over his shoulders and wrapped an arm around his waist to let Jon lean against him. 

“Thank you,” Jon breathed.

The walk to the station and the subsequent ride to Basira’s stop were all but silent. None of them were in a mood to talk, and neither were the few other people out that late at night or early in the morning.

There was still a lot they needed to address to fully be free of the horrors that had taken over their lives: find and kill a now weakened Jonah, figure out how to insulate Martin from the Lonely, determine if they needed to sacrifice their eyes, figure out how to go back to normal lives. Destroying the Institute was only step one to being free, but it was the biggest and most difficult one. The rest could wait for tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, hey you wanna know what mental image inspired this fic? This scene from One Piece that made me cry about a boat when I was 16 and apparently has stuck with me almost 10 years later
> 
> Daisy’s not here because I was CERTAIN she would die after 158. I’m still shocked that the season ended in a way where things are actually looking BETTER for her chances at anything approaching a happy ending


End file.
